I woke up last Saturday miserable that we had to go to Philadelphia. Michael and I were in NYC for Thanksgiving and all I wanted to do was trot around the city, go to my favorite bars and restaurants and see all of my old friends.

But instead, we were heading to the City of Brotherly Love so Michael could go to his high school reunion and reacquaint with people he hadn’t seen in a decade. Yay?

Before Philly, though, we were making a stop for brunch at our BFF Saris’ house in Jersey, to visit her and hubby and adorable new baby.

So we packed up our Vera Bradley duffel bag for the overnight trip to the Loews Hotel and a gift from the ABC Home & Carpet kids section for the baby, and headed to Penn Station. The train ride was nice – and super quick – and we were at our destination, Brick Church, in no time at all. Michael and I walked off of the train car, and now that I was out of the city, I was excited for our big adventure.

The first time Michael and I visited Sari, we missed our train stop and ended up getting completely lost. I was so happy we had deboarded at the right stop, and Michael and I were high-fiving and I was congratulating us on making it to our destination and being 1-1 in regards to our travels to NJ.

I spoke too soon.

As the double-decker train pulled away from the station, I quickly realized that we had left behind the Vera Bradley bag, which contained all of our clothes for Michael’s reunion that night. I panicked. We contemplated driving to the next station to catch the train but Sari’s hubby Jeff told us it would likely be gone by the time we got there.

I called the NJ Transit office at Penn Station immediately and you can imagine how well that went. The woman on the phone pleasantly told me that she would try to get in touch with the train conductor and ask him to put our bag aside but said our best bet at getting it back would be to catch the train on it’s way back to NYC – 3 hours later. After 5 minutes on hold, she said she hadn’t been able to reach him. I was deflated. My favorite basic black Louboutins (my first pair ever!) were in the bag, along with my entire makeup bag, pricey hair extensions, my dress for the party and my perfectly worn in black BJoy sweats, not to mention two pair of Michael’s pants, a few button downs (he’s indecisive) and a sweater. Thankfully I was wearing my jewelry. But still.

Still, we headed to brunch at Toast in Montclair and put the morning’s drama aside. But as soon as we got back to our friends’ house, we started making more calls to useless NJ Transit personnel (were we the FIRST people to ever lose something on a train??) and sulking over our likely-lost possessions.

Ironically, I had just come back from 4 days on an ashram, where $500 pumps meant nothing. In a way, it made the lost bag drama a little easier. But Michael was the one who put it all in perspective, saying “it’s just stuff. We can replace it.”

The statement was so yogic, so unattached. I promptly made him clarify that he was going to buy me new shoes.

I started to calm down, but that was short-lived. I quickly remember something else, something extra special that was in the bag: the black single strap Chanel bag that Michael gave me the night we were engaged. Not only was it really expensive but it had a sentimental value. I was crushed, but Michael was absolutely devastated.

We had planned to take the train from NJ right to Philly but headed back to Penn Station again, making a visit to the lost and found office. The girl behind the counter said it could be days before anything turned up, since the bag may be sitting at the other end of the train route, or at another office in Hoboken. This was a total wild goose chase.

So we rented a car and drove, dejectedly to the big party. When we got out of the car in front of the Loews, the valet asked if he could help with our bags. We had none.

The next few hours were spent in the next door Macy’s, buying everything from a dress to shoes to underwear for me and a new sportsjacket, sweater and button down for Michael. Good thing we had gotten a special room rate for the reunion – we had just dropped over a G to outfit ourselves for the event.

In the following days, I called the NJ Transit office at least 20 times a day, leaving desperate messages. I was thrilled when my phone rang on Monday and I recognized the number as that of the lost and found office (pathetic, right?) but sadly, they were just returning my 99th message to tell me that no, they hadn’t found my green floral print Vera Bradley bag. But they had a pink one. Good for that person.

Over a week later, I’ve finally totally let it go. I always try to do the right thing and was confident that karma would take care of it and return my belongings to me but I guess I was being punished for not returning that wallet i found in a cab when I was 20. I didn’t steal anything out of it, but it just sat in my desk for half a year and I kept forgetting to send it until too much time has passed that I was embarrassed to ship it back to the owner in Japan. I eventually did – after some major detective work to find the address and with the few dollar bills still in the billfold – and now I’m hoping that in 6 or 7 months, my bag might finally show up, with everything intact.

Wishful thinking…